


How to Gain an Invisible Friend

by apocalypse_later



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocalypse_later/pseuds/apocalypse_later
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or 'Adventures in the Worst Afterlife EVER', because Ace sure didn't sign up for this s***. What happened to eternal peace? Or more importantly, his hat?</p><p>(In which Ace is a time-traveling ghost, his younger self is unimpressed, Sabo is alive and Luffy is - as always - stupid.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step 1

**XXXXX/STEP 1**

_he dies._

Ace knows he's dead because he's received a fist of lava slamming through him, melting his organs, the only mercy being the last minute with his brother and that his body was in too much shock, nerves too badly damaged, to feel much pain.

He knows he's dead because he was in Marineford, he was surrounded by the screams and the crying and the moans of pain and horror, and now there is _silence_. Complete and utter silence, and it's relief and fresh torture in equal measure.

Everything he's left behind is loud and glaring in his memory. Everything that could happen to his nakama, his family. Everything he could have done that he didn't get a chance to do, and they're not _regrets_ precisely, but... they linger, still. That's surprising, because - in case this hadn't quite been grasped - he's _dead_. It's not a situation conducive to thoughts or emotions, as many people would fail to attest, by dint of being unable to attest to anything.

On that note, his thoughts have turned to the future (because there must be a future, he's dead and still aware, there must be _some_ afterlife, he hopes, hopes, _hopes_ , he'll see his mother, Thatch, maybe Pops when he comes, everyone else he's lost), anticipation and dread and then

And then he's gone from _there_ and suddenly he's

 _here_.

By the way, 'here' kind of sucks.

**XXXXX**

" _Gol D. Ace_."

He didn't know if it were Heaven or Hell – Heaven to see her, a really shitty kind of Hell to watch this moment -  but Ace was devoted to memorising her voice, her tired, happy expression, the way she clung to her son, touched him as if she wanted to give everything of herself to the babe swaddled in her arms. For this chance, Ace could even bear to be called _that_ name, if it was spoken by her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice almost cracking, even though he knew she couldn't hear him, that no-one in the room had shown any sign of noticing him. Ace stood at the edge of the room, almost afraid to approach, as if everything would vanish if he stepped closer to Portgas D. Rouge, who had just minutes left to live. "I never wanted _this_."

He closed his eyes, grief-stricken, and stepped back to press himself against the wall. This failed miserably when he fell _through_ said wall, stumbling in surprise at the absence of solidity behind him, and ended up slamming his head and back on the tiled floor of the next room.

" _OWSHIT_ \- I totally meant to do that," Ace announced to the world at large, now glad that he was some kind of ghost. Ace twisted himself up, dusting himself off and poking his head back through the wall to glance around, just to make sure he was still invisible and that there wasn't a group of sniggering and/or violent Marines who witnessed his completely reasonable and entirely deliberate trip.

"If floors are gonna be solid, walls should be as well," he added loudly, marching back into the room and crossing his arms, sparing a glare at the offending piece of architecture, which remained unintimidated. "I'm not a big fan of logic, but there should be _some_ standardisation to these rules."

Ace kept his arms crossed, careful not to lean back, and glanced over the room again, from nervous Marines and frowning Garp (' _Whoah, he looks young. That's just freaky._ ') to Rouge (he tried not to look too closely, because he'd heard enough of those rattling breaths to know what they meant, and he didn't need to have a breakdown here - repress, _repress!_ ) and then at the younger version of himself, not crying any longer but staring, wide-eyed with the stupidity of a baby, straight at – oh.

Straight at _him._

Well. Shit. This wasn't good.

Garp let out a long sigh and reached almost gently for the baby, taking the distracted Ace (little Ace? Ace the Younger? He had no idea what to call the younger version of himself) from his mother's arms. "I'll look after you, kid," he promised quietly, shifting his arms to cradle the babe and promptly managed to drop him.

The yells of horror were echoed from a number of quarters as Garp quickly moved to pick baby-Ace up, pretending the boy wasn't falling onto the floor just a second ago and guffawing about how slippery babies can be, while Ace added his own opinion (" _I wasn't slippery, you moron, you're just shit with kids! Did you drop me on my head? Oh fuck, that explains why Luffy's so stupid, you kept dropping him didn't you, you goddamn-_ ") and at least baby-Ace was too busy crying now to stare at his older self.

Ace figured those lungs were gonna get a lot more exercise by the time Garp ditched him with Dadan.

Luckily, the kid was gonna have the best invisible friend _ever_ around to protect him.

Once Ace learned how to stop falling through walls, anyway.


	2. Step 2

**XXXXX/STEP 2**

In the last two weeks, Ace had learned a great deal more about babies than he ever, _ever_ wanted to know.

He'd never had any urge to breed – apart from the fact he wouldn't wish the Government's automatic hatred and death sentence on _any_ kid, a pirate ship was hardly any place for a child and Ace was quite certain piracy was what he wanted to spend the rest of his life (however short and violent) doing.

Now though, he was bound more tightly to a squalling factory of faeces and snot than any mere handcuffs, chains and (quite possibly) superglue could manage.

Babies were _loud_. Babies _stunk_. Babies screamed and shat and snivelled and cried. They did it at _every hour of day and night_ , despite Ace's original belief that they actually needed to _sleep_ now and then. They constantly wanted attention and food (and for a D. baby, that practically equated to several cows worth of milk every day), and by the third day the novelty of 'Holy crap, time-travel! And I'm a ghost! And that baby's _me!_ ' had worn off and been replaced with 'Oh God, oh God, please let me hold a pillow so I can _smother it_.'

Unfortunately for Ace's ear-drums, he still hadn't worked out any way he might be able to move things, despite trying to punch objects or straining at them so hard with his mind that any witnesses who could see him would think he was either constipated, or had just unintentionally relieved himself of such a problem.

He was also, he had discovered, unable to go further than ten metres from the usually-awake, constantly-hungry, incredibly-loud baby. That smelled.

On Garp's flagship of thin walls and the often-rough sea that only encouraged young Ace's displeasure, the only possible solace dead-Ace could find was that he wasn't suffering alone.

Sometimes he yelled encouragement at the twitching, sleep-deprived Marines to pick up a damn pillow and do the deed themselves. As yet, they'd managed to refrain from homicidal behavior, but Ace had high hopes for some of them.

Two. Long. Miserable. Weeks.

"It doesn't even make _sense_ ," he informed Garp as the Vice-Admiral pulled stupid faces over the hastily-constructed crib, probably mentally scarring his younger self. "I mean, the whole _situation_ is stupid, yeah, but I mean _you_. _Your_ plan. I mean, seriously, you plan to get me – him – whatever, to grow into a strong and loyal Marine by having him raised by _mountain bandits_?" Ace paused to let this statement sink in, before suggesting his well-researched and authoritative analysis of, "You're completely damn _nuts_!" which had been suggested by many Marine psychiatrists before they turned in their resignations and ran from headquarters screaming 'Never let that bastard near me again, agggghhhh' (or, in one case, 'The tea, the tea, oh gods, not the crackers'. Sengoku had classified the entire incident, but Marines were possibly even bigger gossips than pirates).

Admittedly, Garp couldn't hear him, but after two weeks of absolutely no human contact, physical or social, relegated to the status of observer, Ace had gained something of a habit of hurling commentary at whoever came within range of his travel-limit.

Perhaps that wasn't quite true – Ace did have _some_ human contact. It was merely with a child so young it hadn't yet developed motor control, a true sense of self, or the understanding that Garp was in fact trying to entertain it rather than terrify it into having one of the youngest heart-attacks in the history of the human race.

Ace had grudgingly decided that being visible only to his younger self was _slightly_ better than being visible only to Garp, because the baby actually had the potential to grow into decent company, while Garp... yeah, not gonna happen.

Not that he didn't love the stubborn old idiot, but there was a reason Bogart was whispered of in reverent tones as ' _The Man with the Unbreakable Brain_ '.

" _Mountain bandits_ ," Ace repeated, because he was bored numb and didn't even have an impending execution to anticipate. "Really, what were you _thinking_? What _are_ you thinking? I got shafted in genetics _and_ upbringing, and then you have the nerve to get pissed off when I'm not jumping at the chance to stick a uniform on?" He slapped a hand through Garp's head, which wasn't anywhere as satisfying as if he could actually whack the man. Especially when the guy was crossing his eyes and blowing raspberries at the horrified baby. "And for cryin' out loud, stop scaring the poor kid! Did your parents do that to you when _you_ were a couple of weeks old? Is _that_ why you're a crazy old freak?"

He whipped his hand back and forth through Garp's head for good measure, imagining the happy sounds of heavy thuds against that thick skull. How the mighty had fallen. Although that had probably started with the whole 'Oops, Teach is kicking my ass' thing. Huh.

Baby-Ace stared beseechingly up at his attempted savior, gurgling whimpers trailing off, and Ace stared sadly back. "Sorry, kid. You're doomed. You're fucked. On the bright side, at least we're not genetically related to _him_ , huh? Poor Luffy."

"Oh- _hoooohhh_ , you're quiet now, huh?" Garp grinned, causing the baby to flinch, Ace wincing in sympathy. "Yes, isn't Garp a good grandpa? Isn't Garp a good grandpa? Yes he is!"

"Like _hell_ you are!" Ace snapped, waving his hand frantically through the hollow skull where most people would actually keep a brain. "And it was _me_ who made him quiet, you're scaring the kid! Keep those crazy eyes away from me! Him! Whatever!"

Garp finished his cooing and gave a long, far-too-loud laugh, crossing his arms as he straightened up. " _Gwahahahaha!_ We'll have you speaking in no time, little Ace! Say 'Justice', now! _Juuuuuuust-is._ Just. Is. C'mon, kid!"

"HE'S TWO WEEKS OLD, YOU DERANGED FREAK!"


	3. Step 3

**XXXXX/STEP 3**

By the age of two months, baby-Ace had suffered both the trauma of losing his mother and the perils of the voyage to the Goa Kingdom in East Blue, not to mention the Insane Horror of his self-proclaimed grandfather's presence. Apparently not yet driven insane, the infant was having to get used to the rough 'care' of Dadan and her followers, leaving the elder Ace unsure whether he felt sorrier for the woman or the baby. So much for the legendary D luck.

Even worse - for the older, somewhat more _dead_ Ace, at least - his younger self was less of a handful and more like several _limbs_ -full, despite the fact his motor control was barely existent and speech completely lacking – two months of life had only strengthened Ace's lungs and appetite both.

Considering what Dadan had put up with, Ace thought, he could understand why she'd been so eager to let him run off as he got older (especally with the chance he'd get eaten by a giant tiger, which would have solved a lot of problems). It would have been a funny thought, if it hadn't been tempered with 'Oh crap, I have to put up with this for _years_ ', which made him wish he was somewhere more pleasant, like encased in an active volcano, or back in Impel Down.

Sometimes it could be entertaining – watching the interactions of Dadan and the other bandits was kind of funny (and informative) but most of the time, Ace was fairly sure he was going to go crazier than Garp on a bad day. Ghosts, it seemed, didn't eat, didn't sleep, and couldn't interact with anything no matter what they tried. Except for his younger self, of course, who at least seemed rapt with attention as Ace told the baby story after story (some of them even _true_ ) to pass the time.

Time.

Passed.

Slowly.

_Too_ damn slowly.

"I had a hat," Ace confided in the infant one day, as he lounged on a ratty chair near the makeshift crib. "It was the best hat _ever_." He pretended the baby's wide gaze signified dedicated attention, and carried on. "It was _orange_. And it had two faces on it – _blue_ ones." Ace paused briefly to let this brilliant description sink in to his captive audience, even as he waved a hand near a fly crawling over the chair, wishing he could actually _hit_ it. Seeing a fly amble through your body was unnerving.

"I _liked_ that hat," he added, somewhat despondently. It had been a good hat – he'd had it more than three years with only a little repair needed, and considering he'd been travelling the Grand Line and New World in all that time, that was pretty damn impressive. He could almost feel it on his head now, a familiar, warm weight pressing down, keeping the glare of the sun out of his eyes, protecting him from rain, saving him from headlice (Ace would never forget the Great Headlice Infestation which most of Whitebeard's crew had succumbed to, and the almost supernatural way he'd remained unaffected until Thatch had finally snapped and yanked the hat off, leading to Ace finally falling victim himself, mass recriminations, and Marco having to lock both of them in a bank vault [don't ask] for six hours until they'd made up).

Where was he?

Oh, yes.

He could almost feel it. When he idly reached a hand up, Ace could feel the firm material of the brim under his fingers, could reach across to run his fingers over the cool metal of the faces adorning it, could –

_What._

Ace sat up. Reached up with his other hand, used both of them to grip his hat, his _hat_. Stared straight ahead, mind racing, because _holy crap_ – it was _his hat_ , the faithful friend he'd kept for years, the one he hadn't seen since Blackbeard had ever-so-slightly beat his ass into the ground, his lucky charm, and it was currently _on his damn head_.

"I have no clue what the hell's going on," Ace admitted to his younger self, a slow grin dawning on his face, like the Sun, but more smiley and less 'fiery ball of death'-like; one might even have said that the Sun had got his hat on (hip, hip, hip, hooray), "but I think this might be a sign things are going to get better."

The baby promptly frowned back, then shat himself.

Ace figured he should leave reading omens to the experts. And get as far away from the smell as possible.

**XXXXX**

At three months, Ace the Younger's main form of entertainment was trying to hit his older self, now that he'd gained enough muscle-control to control to flail his arms in a pre-determined direction, and Ace the Older's main form of frustration was trying to keep his hat with him at all times – it had a strange habit of vanishing if he got too side-tracked, and wouldn't turn back up until he'd focused on recalling the horrible itching sensation of being afflicted with headlice. Which was odd, to say the least.

Thankfully, Ace had pretty much thrown logic out of the window by now, and was operating on the rules of 'whatever happens, happens' and 'maybe I'll get through this functionally sane' which was a nice hope to hold on to, if unlikely.

He had at least one other form of amusement though, which was that Dadan seemed rather wary of something – specifically the fact that baby-Ace kept grasping, staring and laughing at something she couldn't see.

It was entirely mature and sensible of Ace to provoke the kid into reacting when Dadan was watching him, and he refused to believe otherwise. Especially when he got to listen to the bandits worriedly debating whether a) the baby was not all there in the head, b) Dadan herself was losing it, or c) some kind of invisible guardian beast was lurking around, waiting to eat the face of anyone who threatened the baby (because hell, it _was_ Rogers' kid, after all, and who else could bind an evil, demonic being to servitude?).

He'd almost forgotten how much fun screwing with people could be.


	4. Step 4

**XXXXX/STEP 4**

"Human. Flesh." They were possibly the oddest words that Ace had never expected to teach a baby, but if Garp could try to corrupt his younger self with the word 'Justice', then – no, fine. He was just bored. Give him a break. " _Flesh_. Hyu-men. C'mon kid, you can do it!"

The six-month old stared up at him, eyes wide. Ace took this as a good sign, and not evidence of mental instability or confusion at the guy trying to use him as a proxy to terrify a group of mountain bandits. Which was normal. Shut up. "Gah?"

"Nearly! HYU-men. I believe in you, little-me. Make our mom proud, got it?"

Tiny eyebrows furrowed, and Ace marvelled at how ugly a squished-up baby face could be. "Fl'sh!"

"So close! You're nearly there, short stuff." Ace nodded firmly and tapped his fingers against the baby's stubby hand. It looked like it was going to be a while before little-Ace mastered the fine art of high-fives. "After you've got 'human flesh' down, we can start on 'braaaaains' – you gotta drag that out, or it won't work properly – and maybe 'taxes'. That'll _really_ terrify Dadan. You with me?"

"B-gah," little-Ace replied solemnly, waving his hands at his older counterpart. " _Hat_."

Ace paused, still hovering over the crib (not literally, and that sucked. What was the point of being a ghost if you couldn't even fly?), and tilted his head, gazing down with no small amount of bewilderment. "Hat?"

Two chubby hands waved frantically at the orange beauty that perched atop Ace's head at the jauntiest, sexiest angle a hat could ever aspire to. His hat was, Ace would happily confess, a god among headwear. "Hat!"

"Ha. Yeah, _fuck_ no, kid." He reached up to tip it to an even jauntier angle, which he would describe as 'rakish' and anyone else would call 'stupid'. "You'd just dribble over it. Maybe when you're older, and can appreciate its Utter Perfection." Ace smiled proudly, though he stopped when tears started appearing in little-Ace's eyes. "What? No! Don't cry! You'll get your own hat some day! And – it'll be _twice_ as orange! Maybe three times!"

"Na?"

Ace nodded again, crossing his arms. "That's right. It'll be the most amazing hat in all- why I am telling you this? You can't even understand me."

"Gbah!"

"Yeah, I guess. I've been talking to you for six months, and you can't understand any of it. Why stop now?"

"Hat," agreed little-Ace, followed by a spit bubble to back up his point.

**XXXXX**

By the age of seven months, the unfortunate baby had a wide and unusual vocabulary. Sure, he couldn't say 'mama' or 'dada', but demanding human flesh and various internal organs were an easy task, something that had led to most of the bandits eyeing little-Ace with trepidation and making signs to ward off evil when they ended up in the same room as him.

Ace found this hilarious, although he figured he might have gone a _little_ too far teaching the baby such a wide range of profanities. The look on poor Zao's face when little-Ace had pointed at him and happily burbled ' _B'stard!_ ' made up for it, though.

"Bored," Ace announced, because there was only so much terrifying of innocent(?) bandits one could perform without wanting to bash your head against a wall. " _Booooored_." From the way he'd been repeating it for the last twenty minutes, he wouldn't have been surprised if it were the next word his younger self learned, although the baby _was_ somewhat distracted with the dual excitements of a) learning to crawl and b) chewing on/hitting/both every object he could reach in his playpen.

" _Boooooored_." He stared out the window, gazing at the vast wilderness of... wilderness. And vastness. There were a lot of trees involved. "You wouldn't believe how bored I am. But it's a lot. And constant. A lot of constant _boredom_."

"Spleen!" little-Ace squealed cheerily, more interested in slamming his toy seagull (from Garp, naturally) against the bars of his playpen. It gave a doleful squeak.

Ace shook his head, still staring at the trees, trees, grass, trees, sky, trees and trees. "No, kiddo. No spleens for now. Maybe later." His eyes narrowed as a bird caught his attention, winging its way in the distance, shoving Ace's lack of freedom in his face and probably laughing at him. In Ace's opinion, anyway. He could almost hear its mocking even from where he stood. If he ever got outside, that bird would probably hunt him down and crap on him. It looked the type.

Or maybe he was going crazy. Crazier. Whatever.

"I've got to get out of here," Ace muttered, resting his forehead against the window pane. "You and me, kid, against the world. What'd'you say?"

Little-Ace considered this, in the form of working out how to pass the seagull from one hand to another and then toss it out of the playpen. It was an impressive throw.

"Is that a yes, mini-me?"

"Hat!"

"Absolutely. We'll get you a hat and everything. No spleens, though. Agreed?"

The baby stared at him dopily – no, _intelligently_. This was _him_ , after all! - and then at the poor seagull toy, obviously confused as how to retrieve it with the mountainous obstacle of the playpen bars in the way. "Hat."

Ace shook his head. "That's not a hat. I mean, sure, Sengoku likes wearing a seagull on his head, but that's just his own fetish. You don't have to do that. Get your _own_ fetish, okay? One that doesn't involve having a fake bird on your head."

Despite Ace's sincerity in the matter, his younger self seemed uncertain of this good advice. "'Tish."

"I beg your pardon, Midget-Self?"

"Fetish!"

"Oh. Well, that's good too." He ambled over to the seagull and attempted to nudge it with a boot, which passed right through. "Sorry, kid. Looks like no seagull for now. Maybe Dadan or one of the others will grab it for you, huh?"

"Spleen."

"Exactly." That said, he wandered back to the despondant little-Ace and petted his hair, which seemed to cheer the baby up a little, judging by how he twisted to try and slobber over Ace's fingers. It was like he was just a miniature saliva factory. Ace marked it down to Rogers' genes (there was no way he could get anything so disgusting from his _mother_ , it was probably a trade-off for his magnificent freckles), and kept petting, dodging the trails of drool as best he could. "Ya hear that? Sounds like Dadan's coming right now. She'll feed you _and_ get the seagull back. Two for one!"

Little-Ace burbled again as Dadan's footsteps neared, and beamed as much as a baby could when her massive form appeared in the doorway. "Hat!" he exclaimed happily, pointing at the seagull. Dadan stared at his outstretched finger warily, then at the seagull, obviously relieved by the latter sight. She was, Ace suspected, probably expecting to see some organ that the 'Demon Baby' had torn out of one of her men. Possibly a spleen. There was always a first time, after all, and judging by the whispers of the bandits, it wouldn't be entirely unexpected.

"Damn kid," Dadan muttered, stooping to pick the battered toy up – Ace acknowledged her as a badass by the way she didn't give a shit her fingers were getting slimy where his younger self had been chewing on it delightedly – and stomping over to drop the seagull back into the playpen, holding up the bottle of milk. "All right, brat, feeding time; get over here."

Little-Ace stared up at her for a moment, mouth working soundlessly, before crawling carefully over to the seagull and picking it up, ignoring Dadan's outstretched arms. Then he grinned at her, toy cradled in one arm and the other hand pointing at the woman. "Fetish!"

Okay, maybe Ace could hold off kidnapping the kid a _little_ longer if he could make Dadan screech like that. It made even the seagull and drool worth it.


	5. Step 4.5

**XXXXX/STEP 4 ½ – A Series of Unfortunate Developments. Also, Hats.  
**

"I don't get it."

"That's because you're an idiot." Dadan jabbed a finger in little-Ace's direction, face set like a bucket of concrete that had been left out too long and- anyway. "The kid's a demon, or possessed, or haunted or _something!_ What the hell are you going to do about it, huh?"

Garp considered this, peering at the ten month old who was playing happily with his battered seagull toy (he wasn't sure why it was named 'Hat', but whatever). "What was the problem again?"

While Dadan seethed and set about explaining that it was unnatural for a baby to say and do the things that her current charge was saying and doing, Ace lounged in a corner, encouraging his mini-self to call Garp as many rude words as he could. Little-Ace seemed too preoccupied with Hat, sadly.

"I don't know what Dadan's so worried about," he informed little-Ace, who continued ignoring him. "You're developing really well for a kid! I think. It's not like I have much experience with babies. Should you be walking by now or something?"

Little-Ace promptly threw Hat through Ace's head, which he took to mean 'No, you idiot'. "Oh. Fine."

Then a staring contest ensued between dead- and little-Ace, which had the added benefit of creeping out Dadan and making Garp insist that a bit of brain-damage in childhood never hurt anyone.

"You dropped him on his head before you got him to me, didn't you?" Dadan decided, giving up.

"... Maybe."

**XXXXX**

Although it seemed that his younger self was taking his sweet time about actually, well, _growing_ , Ace was forced to concede that it was a little (only _slightly)_ better now than when the kid had first been born.

For a start, it was little-Ace himself; now a year old, instead of sleeping so much, he was awake more often, learning, crawling around and generally being far more interesting than a newborn. Especially after Ace taught him how to unlock the crib and escape, which was always fun.

Then there were the reactions of Dadan's merry band of bandits (pun intended) to whatever bordom-defying stunt he managed to get little-Ace to pull – and finally the fact that little by little, the limits he could traverse had expanded. It had happened so slowly as to be barely noticeable from one week to the next, but he could now manage to travel a whole _fifteen_ metres from the kid.

Fine, so it wasn't much of an improvement. But an extra five metres was still an extra five metres, damn it, and at least it opened up the possibility he would be able to travel a fair distance from his younger self by the time little-Ace hit adulthood.

"Hat," little-Ace insisted, shoving the seagull at him and staring up unblinkingly.

Ace poked him in the forehead. "Yep. Hat. Mine's better."

A pitying look followed. "Fetish. Hat fetish."

"Uh. No. You've got the wrong end of the stick here, kid."

"Hat fetish!"

"It's not, I swear! I just like it, that's all!"

Little-Ace gazed up, before petting Ace gently on the arm. "Hat fetish."

"No, really! I ju- You're saying this on purpose, aren't you?"

"Spleen!"

Ace narrowed his eyes at the too-innocent face, wondering if the price of creating so much entertainment was a baby with deviousness hammered into its skull. The kid blinked up at him and smiled.

No question about it. Little-Ace was evil.

Ace had never been so proud.

**XXXXX**

"- and that was how Sabo and I banned Luffy from ever trying to dress up a water beetle again," Ace finished, reaching down to ruffle little-Ace's hair. "And just so you know, no-one ever figured out it was us that blew up the distillery. The end."

Little-Ace stared up at him blankly, as he had for the last few minutes, before throwing Hat at his face. "Stupid."

"You don't even know what that means," Ace argued. "Besides, you're only a year old. You don't get to have an opinion."

Two little eyes glared at him, before little-Ace pushed himself up and toddled over to fetch Hat. This, Ace knew, was the part where the brat sulked in a corner and ignored him.

He had no life. In so many senses of the word.

**XXXXX**

At eighteen months, the toddler was banned from crayons, pens, paint or anything that was harder to clean up than a single spilt drink. Ace thought this was an overreaction – the various scribbles had only reached as high as the kid could reach, which wasn't _that_ high. Besides, despite his help, little-Ace had spelt most of the swear-words and threats wrong.

Better luck next time, Ace figured. He couldn't wait until his mini-me actually learned _how_ to spell. For now, he focused on teaching the kid how to break out of his playpen and open doors.

Hey, problem-solving was useful, okay?

_Mwa ha haaaa._

… Damn, he was bored.

"You can do it, Mini-Me!" Little-Ace spared him a 'You're an idiot' look before continuing to fumble his way through shoving a chair close enough to the door for him to climb up and work the handle. "That's right, kid, work off that puppy fat!" Ace considered that for a second, fiddling with his hat. "Not that I'm calling you _fat_ or anything. Maybe a little chubby."

Bah. The kid was ignoring him. Verily, this could not be tolerated! Or at least, that's what Ace told himself as he ambled over to the busy brat and crouched beside him. "Hm. Maybe a _bit_ fat." He poked a finger at little-Ace's cheek. "Hey. Fatty. Lose some wei- _OWFUCK!_ "

Huh. Ace stared at his finger, then at the annoyed, teething boy viciously biting the end of it. Without passing _through_ it.

"Well. _That's_ new." An experimental wiggle did nothing to lodge the attached teeth. "... You mind letting go?" Their eyes met, one of the pairs black and narrowed, reveling in the joy of being able to inflict pain on the annoying guy who'd literally haunted him since birth. "Yeah. Didn't think so."

**XXXXX**

The haul today was good – two separate groups of traders had decided it would be faster taking a shortcut through the mountains to get their goods to Goa City, rather than the longer, established (and safer) method of just taking a damn boat and moving _around_ them.

Dadan suspected that said traders now knew _why_ taking a boat was better, seeing as they'd ended up leaving all their merchandise and quite a few limbs in the Dadan Family's tender care.

Now came the hard part.

Moving ahead of her men, Dadan approached the door to the base, hiding a brief shiver. She could do this. She was Curly Dadan, brave enough to stand up to Vice-Admiral Garp, strong enough to beat up half the pirates in East Blue without breaking a sweat, imposing enough to keep a whole group of mountain bandits under complete control for over a decade.

She wasn't scared of a twenty month old child. Really.

She was just... _cautious_.

A quick once-over of the building determined that the boy hadn't managed to blow it up or burn it down yet, which the men had been worrying about for several months now. Another glance directed her attention to Nozuki, who was keeping guard on the building from up a tree several meters from the door. It had, after all, been impossible to order anyone to keep watch from _inside_ the building after The Incident.

Damn kid.

Dadan made a brief _all clear_ motion up at him. "Everything good?"

"I haven't heard anything. _Yet_ ," Nozuki confessed, eyes darting nervously as his fingers clutched tighter around his musket. "But he can't stay quiet forever, no, he can't. The demon wants to eat us, my precious, doesn't it?" He giggled hysterically and stroked the musket, apparently without noticing. "Yes, yes it _does_ , but we won't let it, no..."

Mentally marking another one down in the 'mentally broken and not to put on Watching Ace duty', Dadan shook her head. She lost more men that way... Still, there were more important matters for now.

She edged a little closer to the door and – with all the courage and strength of one bad-ass mo-fo – pushed it open. It creaked ominously, because mountain bandits really didn't give a crap about oiling hinges. Let's not even mention how often the windows got washed (or failed to). Trust me, if there's a floor you don't want to eat off? It's Dadan's.

"Kid?" Dadan steeled her nerves, as she did every time she had to enter the base with only Ace already inside. She'd long decided it was ridiculous. He was a _toddler_. He wasn't a demon, or half-demon, or demon-possessed, or – actually, a _lot_ of the theories revolved around demons. Huh. But Dadan was reasonably certain they weren't true. Probably. Nor that he had his father's ghost shadowing him as a psychotic bodyguard.

Honestly, _ghosts_. Fuckin' stupid theory.

"Hey, KID! We're back!" No response. Weird. Still, maybe the brat was sleeping or – Tenryuubito forbid – he'd actually stayed in his room instead of breaking out, this time. Dadan didn't want to know _how_ the brat kept breaking out, but it was still bizarre. Dadan shrugged, still keeping a weather eye out for lunatic (and not at all demonic, no sirree) children, and briefly gave a 'He's not here, waiting to kill everyone' signal to the wary men still waiting outside, before heading to the kitchens to grab a celebratory snack.

Ah, _there_ was the little punk.

… Oh, he'd discovered knives. How cute.

…

Wait.

" _PUT THOSE DOWN, YOU LITTLE FUCKER!_ "

Unnoticed in a corner, Ace gave a wide grin and thumbs up to his protegé. This mentor stuff was _awesome_.


	6. Step 5

**XXXXX/STEP 5**

Two pairs of eyes, identical in every way but size, stared intently at each other. There would be no backing down. No retreat. No surrender.

"Make me proud, kid," Ace ordered, voice grim. "Go for it."

The smaller face screwed up in deep thought. "Nine!"

" _Hnnnngh_..." Ace rubbed his forehead, gritting his teeth. Were kids _really_ this stupid? Or was it a D trait? "Good try, but no. If there are ten Marine ships and a pirate ship blows up two of them, there are _eight_ ships left. Got it?"

The two year old stared back up at him, almost pityingly, before patting Ace's knee. "Eight M'rine ships. One p'rate ship. _Nine_ ships."

"... Okay, that's enough math lessons for today. Stop looking smug, brat."

"Beat you."

"Shut up."

Ace crossed his arms, stood up, and pretended he hadn't just had his mathematical ass kicked by someone not even out of diapers. "Let's talk about... ships."

"No."

"Fighting?"

"No!"

Ignoring the odd, faint sensation of Hat the cuddly seagull flying through his head, Ace tried another subject. "Piracy?"

"No. Food." The glare might have been terrifying if, y'know, it wasn't a scrawny toddler directing it. "Wanna talk 'bout _food_. Bastard."

The older Ace considered this, tapping his foot. "By 'talk about', you mean 'eat', right?"

' _No shit, Sherlock_ ', said his counterpart's look. It was amazing how he could specify exactly how much of an idiot he thought Ace was just by altering his expression slightly.

"Fine, fine. Let's get you into the kitchens and grab some food, yeah? Maybe steal a knife or two while we're at it." He grinned, because after you've been almost entirely invisible and insubstantial for two years, one tends to lose one's remaining sanity (and frankly, Ace hadn't had a great deal in the first place). "And then I'll teach you the best places to stab someone if you want to put 'em down for a while!"

With a happy giggle, little-Ace tottered to his feet and headed for the door. Sometimes his weird, annoying older brother-like-thing could be fun after all. Mostly when knives were involved.

**XXXXX**

And lo! The years passed, and there were knives, and it was good. Well, not for the Dadan Family, but hey – their terror and paranoia was funny, and Garp was still insistent on them 'taking care' of the young Portgas, so who cared?

There had been highs for the ghostly Ace, as well as lows. There had also been the slowly dawning realization that he'd succeeded in turning his mini-self into a knife-wielding almost-sadist, but you couldn't make an omelette without breaking a few skulls. Or something. Ace had never really been one for old sayings.

"Today, little ex-boy," he said proudly, gazing down with pride at his young student, "you become a _man_."

"Bastard, I'm five."

"A five year old _man_."

The child rolled his eyes and wandered off to play with his birthday present (a slingshot, which the bandits hoped he'd give up his precious knives for), which was a sensible response.

"No! Wait!" Waving his arms frantically, Ace planted himself in front of the boy, which was a lot more effective now he was actually solid to the kid. "Somewhere out _there_ -" he motioned across the wide expanse of mountainous forest and beyond that, to the Gray Terminal, "- is _Sabo_."

Extricating some of the contents of his nose, little-Ace stared back up at him. "That kid ya tell stories about?"

"They're not stories."

"So?"

Ace performed a spasming little dance to display his horror at this lack of care. (It'd been a long five years, okay?) "Sabo is out there, and he's _alone_ , and this was the year I first met him! You need to go out there, and -" He racked his brain, searching for something that would make his younger self take note. "- and – be his _friend_."

The boy blinked – once – twice – slowly. "His... friend?"

Nodnodnod. "Yes! The two of us were like brothers!"

"Who was older?"

"... Me, obviously." Shut up, kid. "But that's not important! The point is – you want another kid to play with, right? Not dumbass bandits and people who keep shrieking and trying to edge out of the room when you come in."

It was little-Ace's turn to nod now, face thoughtful. "It'd be kinda nice to have someone _smart_ to talk to..."

Ace beamed. "Exact- _hey_. I'm smart." He ignored the look of impolite disbelief. "You might as well give him a chance, right? And seeing as with my help, you're a lot smarter than last time, you can definitely be the older brother now!"

"So you _weren't_ the older brother last time?"

"... Sometimes I hate you."

**XXXXX**

Sabo couldn't see Ace – the dead one, anyway. Thankfully, little kids are willing to believe plenty of crazy stuff and besides that, it wasn't hard to provide proof that _someone_ could see Sabo pulling faces at little-Ace, even though his back was turned. Little-Ace promptly punched Sabo for this, Sabo punched back, and before long, Ace was on top of Sabo, twisting the blond's arm behind his back and making him call him 'big brother'.

It was the only sensible option, really.

"That's not exactly how brotherly bonding's meant to go," Ace muttered to his younger counterpart, before remembering that actually, violence and establishing dominance _was_ brotherly bonding, and that the only way this differed from his own childhood was that his own Sabo would have had an equal chance of being the one on top and twisting the other's arm.

Ace decided he preferred it this way.

Little-Ace hadn't played with kids before – partly because the bandits only had one other child with them, who was several years older than him anyway, but mostly because the 'demon' scared the crap out of them. A lot. Especially when he got his hands on knives or matches.

Or _both_.

But let's not talk about That Incident.

In any case, little-Ace was slowly but surely discovering the joys one can get when _not_ terrifying people, but actually working at forming functional relationships with them (e.g., not sneaking up on them with blades, or setting them on fire). Sabo was going through a similar experience, except without the underlying compulsion to brutalize people for the lulz.

Now Ace thought about it, maybe he _shouldn't_ have brought his younger self up like that. Maybe it was bad for his development. Maybe it could be dangerous for him. Maybe it wou-

…

_Naaah_. Totally worth it.


End file.
